


Suicide Mission

by YuMe89



Series: Choices We Make [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, light Violence, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-07-24 20:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuMe89/pseuds/YuMe89
Summary: This Chapter is just a short part, showing what went on with Aziraphale after he had suddenly left Crowley.





	1. Chapter 1

A month had went by since Aziraphales sudden appearance in his flat and Crowley was occupied with buying the perfect Houseplants. Some didn't make it, as he had stopped threatening them and the lines were thinning out. It didn't look as good as before. 

He was rearranging them now, so the sunlight would hit them tomorrow just right. Crowley knew, he had to get his head in the game, as they say, finding that spark in him, to give his plants someone to fear again. At the moment, they barely aknowledged his existence. 

His phone rang, probably the helpless angel Poyel, who trailed him like a puppy nowadays. He had made it a habit of calling Crowleys landline, using Aziraphales phone. Not always successful. He let it go to voicemail.

"...Hello?...I still don't get how this works. Crowley, are you there? Are we talking? Hello? I have to tell you something, it's urgent. I don't know what to do...hello?", the angelic voice of a confused Poyel could be heard and Crowley sighed, walked over to his office and picked up. "What?"

"Oh! I-It worked, I wasn't sure, did you hear me be-before?", he stuttered out of pure exitement that he succeeded in calling the demon. Said demon rolled his eyes.

"Yesss, Poyel, get to the point, I have ssstuff to do. What is it you wanted to tell me?", he hissed out of sheer annoyance.

"Uh, so, Aziraphale was here, yesterday and he-he wanted to burn his bookshop and I-I told him I'd put Holy Water in the strinklers...but that wasn't why I called. I thought you should know, he invited me over...", at first Poyel didn't make sense to him, then Crowley slowly got the message.

"Over _where_?", he asked, grabbing a pen and paper out of his drawer. Poyel told him the adress and he wrote it down. 

"He told me to invite you along, if I wanted to come. I-I don't know if it's a good idea Crowley. You and me might not be on the same side, but he is a threat to both of us. To everyone! I don't want to go and I don't want _you_ to go either! I know how much Aziraphale loved you, it would destroy him to know he hurt you!", the angel sounded urgent, Crowley closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"Aziraphale is gone, Poyel. He's not the same anymore and he couldn't care less what happens to me. You're a good one, Poyel. Annoying, but not a fucking bastard like the rest of your lot. Stay away from him or he will destroy you.", he didn't want to hear any potests and ended the call. He leaned on his desk with both hands, growling in frustration. 

"Cute. You're so concerned.", a voice behind him said, causing him to crumble the piece of paper in his hand and wip around. 

"Aziraph- Azira-fell! What a surprise. Did you forget how to use a fucking doorbell?", he remarked, trying his hardest to stay angry, but the relieve to see him was just too great. One month and he had missed this hellish idiot. 

"I don't recall doorbells are used to get fucked, but I think it could be arranged.", the Prince of Hell said, walking around in Crowleys office, keeping his distance on purpose, looking at the Mona Lisa sketch intently. 

Crowley turned and slouched against his desk, gripping the edge on either side, as he followed him with his eyes. 

"It get's kind of dull, tempting and being evil. I get why you sought me out so often. Humans are temporary fun, they don't understand or are willing to grasp what we are. And the few who do have so weird and irritating questions. Drinking with you was fun.", Azira-fell told him, ending with a smile, it still didn't reach his eyes, just like last time.

Crowley swallowed, his dry throat clicking as he did. "And you got that after just a month? Try keeping up appearances for six-thousand years."

The blond demon clucked his tongue, steering towards Crowleys throne, letting his finger glide over the top of it's backrest before leaning his crossed arms on it. "But you had me, from the beginning. You knew I half-assed my job and wouldn't thward you." Azira-fell rested his head on top of his arm, gaze taking in all of Crowley.

"I wouldn't say that. You were a good Angel, you resisted my wiles over and over again.", the lower demon stated, taking off his glasses and placing them on top of his desk, so he could see Azira-fell better.

"I didn't resist shit, I just let it look as if I did.", the blond demon confessed. "Your beard is gone."

"Yeah...it itched too much and grew out with red roots.", Crowley said, scratching his chin involuntarily.

"Your hair is still long. It looks the same as in Eden. Shiny locks, falling over your shoulder.", his voice was toeing the line to fond, but that couldn't be. Azira-fell couldn't actually feel anything.

Crowley gulped, suddenly feeling exposed without a reason to. Crossing his arms over his chest, he held Azira-fells gaze. "I was about to cut them too, I'm bored of that look."

"Don't.", it wasn't a plea, really, but it wasn't an order either. Maybe something inbetween. The newer demon took a step back from Crowleys throne, holding onto it for a second, before letting go and distancing himself even more. He wasn't in a hurry, he looked like someone deep in thought. 

"I guess Poyel gave you my adress?", he said, not looking at Crowley, eyes fixating on the desk, as he leaned against the wall opposite of Crowley, hands in the pockets of his expensive looking pants. 

"Yeah.", Crowley answered, voice thicker than he had thought. The room felt heavier than before, tension building up in a subtle way. "He did." He had nearly forgotten the scrap of paper in his hand, now he was hyperaware of it, following the edges with his finger.

"You know what's funny?", Azira-fell asked, eyes catching Crowleys gaze from across the room. 

"I've never felt so at ease before. In Heaven, and I know you remember that, Gods Love was within us, filling us and causing us to never doubt her Love for us. I did anyway. I was unsure and anxious and I felt so weak.", he shrugged, breaking his stare for a while, before looking back again. "Now, all of this is gone. There is no doubt, only sureness of power. I know exactly what I'm capable of and what I want."

"And what do you want?", Crowley asked, trying to process all this information at once.

Azira-fell smirked, it spread slowly over his face. "Chaos, war in Heaven. I want revenge, I want to hurt Her. Kill a few Archangels, just for fun."

"Sounds like you got a hitlist...someone I know?", he maybe knew the top four already, Sandalphones ugly smile on Aziraphales trial coming to mind. Yeah, he wasn't opposed to killing him. 

"To be honest and I think it's save to say we demons aren't honest most of the time, you know all of them.", Azira-fell said, inspecting his fingernails for a moment. Crowley caught sight of something he hadn't seen before. The golden ring Aziraphale wore all those millenia was still on his finger. How was that possible? Crowley knew he lost everything he had as he Fell.

"But is a personal vendetta really a good idea? What are you doing when Satan finds out? He won't be pleased.", he tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind his ear, as he mused this out loud. 

The blond demon followed his motion with hazel eyes. "It was his idea in the first place. My overall assignment." He walked over again, this time he sat down in Crowleys throne. 

Close proximity was not good, Crowley thought, trying to look nonchalant, unaffected, the tips of their shoes were almost touching. "Sounds like a suicide mission." That earned him a shrug and he gulped audible. "What if Earth is destroyed this time?"

"Couldn't care less. I only want Her to suffer.", cold and harsh, he should've expected it, but it was still overwhelming to hear it. 

"Do you want me to die, too?", he dared to ask, holding Azira-fells icy gaze. There was no direct answer, like Crowley had assumed there would, his uninvite guest said nothing. 

"If Hell wins, you won't.", he answered at last, shrugging.

A quiet bemused laugh escaped Crowley. "I'm still a Traitor, Angel, capital T, that won't change!" In an instand there was a hand around his neck, and harsh breath against his ear. 

" **Don't** call me that!", Azira-fell growled, his cool and collected facade falling. "I'm not an angel anymore and I will never be one again.", his whole body was pressed up against Crowleys.

If he had been a human who needed to breath, he would've blacked out by now, feeling Azira-fells nails digging into the soft skin of his neck. He was angry and didn't hold back. It made it hard for Crowley to talk, but he tried anyway. "It's not meant like that, never was.", he choked out, feeling Azira-fell lessen the pressure. "It's an endearment."

"Don't use it again.", the Prince of Hell growled quietly, still outraged, but he stopped choking Crowley entirely, his hand still lingering on his neck though, rubbing soothing circles with his fingertips. His face buried in the other demons auburn curls, breathing in his scent. "Just don't."

Crowleys heart skipped several beats and started a whole new tango-like song without permission. He knew Azira-fell could feel it, the way his fingertips lingered on his pulse. "Got it.", he whispered back. In an instant, the warmth pressing against his body was gone and he opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Azira-fell was gone.

Why did it always end like this between them nowadays? Just talking to him had felt so right, like old times. He guessed, that was the reason he let the small endearment slip past his lips. He wasn't Aziraphale anymore, but it was his body, his voice, even his scent. 

Closing his eyes again and refusing to let any of his tears fall, he balled up his fists. 

He missed his Angel so much, he would take anything that was left of him. 

_Pathetic_ , he thought, as one of those glistening traitors left his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is just a short part, showing what went on with Aziraphale after he had suddenly left Crowley.

With a loud crash, he landed in his own flat. Not that he couldn't be silent, he just didn't care if he woke up his neighbours. 

Pacing up and down in his apartment, Azira-fell huffed in anger. Again, he felt something inside his chest, like a blooming flower. It was disgusting. He held onto the rage bubbling up, to overshadow this... thing.

Crowleys aftershave lingered with him, his hand, that had touched his neck, smelled like him. He still felt how his body had been pressed up against his own, all long lines, pulse quickened beneath his fingertips. It had to be Lust, it couldn't be anything else. It wasn't possible for him to feel. That's it, he just wanted to fuck him, nothing else. His hormones where in overdrive, not used to being honed into.

Then why didn't he just bend him over the desk and had his way with him? 

Enraged, he lifted a lamp next to his dining table and swung it across the room, screaming while doing so. His wings showed, filling half his apartment. Glass splintered as it collided with his coffeetable, leaving the floor coated in a million glass diamonds. Still rubbing his chest, he grabbed one of his stools, destroying it too, by sheer force of will. The wood splintered under his hands, turning to dust on his floor.

He had held his distance at the start and it was _nice_ to talk to Crowley, like he remembered all those years had been. Still, there was something else, familiar and odd to his new form. "This can't be. It's not possible.", he whispered, snapping his fingers in a knee jerk reaction and his whole furniture was back to normal, in tip top condition. 

Walking over to his window, he stood in front of it, looking down on the humans going about their day, putting his forehead against the cool glass. His gaze lingered on a pair of humans holding hands. "I misinterpret things.", he says to himself, closing his eyes. His wings safely tucked away again.

He saw the scene again behind his eyelids again and again, but he knew, his intention hadn't been sexual after his little outbreak. Just lingering in Crowleys presence was, what he had wanted and it scared him. He had wanted to hug him, maybe hold his hand or kiss him, nothing more. 

Had God done this intentionally? A trick to stop his assignment and make him regret his revenge, before it even started?

Unsure what to do, if he should talk to Satan and clear it with him or not, he decided to just indulge in Sloth and go to bed. Nothing he came up with was helpful at all. 

And if he slept with his hand close to his face, that was his business alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it ^^


	3. Chapter 3

Against his better judgement, he did end up visiting Azira-fell with Poyel, seeing as the young angel got his invitation first. He wasn't jealous. Nuh-huh.

Poyel was twitchy, as he got into Crowleys car and fridgeted around the whole ride there. "He's not going to kill us.", he said, rolling his eyes. He hadn't told the young Angel that Azira-fell had visited him a few days ago and that his plan didn't involve killing Poyel and Crowley.

Halting on the side of the street, that is clearly not allowing him to park there, they looked up the building.

"It doesn't look evil...", Poyel said, studying the half-circle windows, causing Crowley to glance at him, like he had just popped a second head. He was not going to comment that. No, Sir.

The demon dared to leave his car, just now noticing someone in the window, looking down at them. Well fuck, it did give him the creeps, but he won't back off now. 

"Come on, you did bring your Holy Water, right?", Crowley said, going for the door, Poyel following suit.

"U-Uhm, yes, I did. I'm not stupid, Crowley.", he said, brows knit together. 

"I didn't say that. I just don't want us to be unprepared, is all.", the demon muttered, as they took the stairs. He didn't know what to expect, but as the door opened in front of them, it wasn't that.

A big spacious livingroom, with a lot of windows, soft tones, stylish. It looked nothing like Aziraphales small livingspace he inhabited over his bookshop, but Crowley couldn't pinpoint, why it still looked like it fit his Angel. 

"Nice...", he said, looking around, hoping to not find any other demons or even Satan. He berated himself, that was dumb, he would feel Lucifer being around. That presence couldn't be disguised. 

"I know.", was what Azira-fell said, smiling, it didn't reach his eyes. His still very expressive eyes. Crowley missed his fond look, even with the bitchy undertones. At least he was feeling something back then. Now it was like someone had took Aziraphales very essence out and left a sarcastic, possibly evil and dangerous shell.

And still, he was drawn to him. Like a moth to flame. No, not going there, too poetic. And real.

Poyel seemed too afraid to say anything. Maybe that was a good thing, considering they were willingly spending time with a timebomb. A nuclear one. And they didn't even know when and if it would go off. Crowley really should reconsider his lifechoices. Hope was a really bad thing to have.

They followed Azira-fell to his big plush creme colored couch and sat down wary of this whole situation. "What can I get you?", their host asked, looking for all the world like he didn't want to serve them anything. The bastard. 

"Wine?", Poyel said at the same time as Crowley answered:"Scotch."  
Azira-fell huffed a laugh, snapping his fingers and in front of Poyel appeared a wineglass, red. A rich Scotch appeared in front of Crowley. "Thanks."

"Yeah.", the Prince of Hell shrugged, sitting down on the matching armchair opposite of them. 

The way he leaned back and elegently crossed his legs, was irritating for Crowley. It was so not Aziraphale, it hurt. He just looked so relaxed, as one arm laid on the armrest and the other swirled his wineglass around.

"This is anti-climatic.", Poyel said, obviously intoxicated enough after a few sips of wine, to strike up a conversation. He did have a point though, Crowley mused.

"So, you found yourself a new angel?", Azira-fell asked, grinning at the way Crowley squirmed. He obviously didn't like that mental image. 

"I don't like him like that!", Poyel beat him to it, full of indignation and unhidden disgusted. 

Glancing at Poyel, Crowley took a sip of his Scotch and mumbled: "Well, thank you, I feel really appreciated. You can walk home."

"But you like him...", Azira-fell stated, resting his head on his hand and watching the angel. "I told you to be careful."

"He's...not dangerous...but I don't _feel_ anything for him and I never could.", there it was again, his stubborness, as he stared back at the Prince of Hell.

Curious, Azira-fell leaned forwards just a fraction, unnoticable maybe to Poyel, but Crowley did catch it, watching him intently. "Why not?"

Poyel looked at Crowley, then back at the former angel. "He's not my type."

"Wrong gender? That isn't a problem and you know it. Or is it, because he's a demon?", Azira-fell pondered on, he really wanted to know, as it seemed. 

As Crowley looked towards Poyel, he realized the young angel knew exactly why Azira-fell asked him this, he seemed to be the only one not knowing. He didn't like it. "Care to enlighten me?"

"I just like someone else.", the angel answered at last, ignoring Crowley. He didn't seem to feel the dangerous vibe, the auburn haired demon was all too aware of.

Standing up with extreme grace, Azira-fell walked around the table slowly, staring at Poyel, who gulped and looked up at him in return. "Who?", he asked in a hushed voice, taking the angels wineglass and placing it carefully on the coffeetable. 

Before Poyel could answer, or Crowley intervene, there was a knock on the front door. Raising a curious eyebrow, Azira-fell went to get the door without another word. 

"I didn't know you made so many friends...", Crowley commented, huffing a laugh and exchanging a curious gaze with Poyel. The angel seemed as surprised as he was. 

They heard the door open and close. Azira-fell came back alone, puzzled expression on his face. "There was no one at the door. Probably just some neighbours kids.", he shrugged and picked up his glass, as he stood by the table again. 

Loud clattering from the kitchen was heard, getting everyone to turn their heads towards the general direction. "Oh no.", Crowley said, having a strange déjà-vu. He set his glass down, just as Hastur walked around the corner. 

An ugly grin on his thin lips, he took in all three of them one at a time. "Would you look at that, the traitor gathered more traitors 'round himself!"

"Not my apartment...", Crowley said in a low sing song voice. 

"Hastur, how was your vacation?", Azira-fell asked, not fazed in the slightest, sporting a mean smirk. He took a sip of his wine. 

"Uhm...who is that exactly?", Poyel asked confused, his eyes darting from one to the other. 

"T'is just Hastur, a demon, he wants to kill us.", Crowley answered casually, like it happened any other day, sounding cool and collected without feeling like it one bit. 

Poyel nodded, thinking this over. "Oh, okay....uhm _what_?", his voice a tad bit shrill at the end. He fumbled for his Holy Water, not finding it. 

"Duke of Hell for you, you disgrace!", Hastur said, boiling with anger, spitting as he spoke. 

"In which of the Nine Circles did I send you? I mean, just for references...", the Prince of Hell asked, about to sit down again. 

Hastur seethed, it had to be a miracle his toad didn't fume with him and die from extreme heat. "All of them!", lips pulled back in a snarl, he walked over.

Poyel suddenly stood up, having found the Holy Water and caused both Azira-fell and Crowley to shy away from him. In his haste to get to Hastur, he tripped over his own feet and landed on the ground, knocking himself out and dowsing his body unintentionally in Holy Water.

"Oh, you got to be kidding me...!", Azira-fell couldn't believe it, how clumsy could one be? Rubbing his temples in second-hand embarressment, he sighed. And they weren't even able to help him up. On the plus side, Hastur couldn't touch him either...

"Well...that went horribly wrong.", Crowley stated, looking at Poyel in concern and to his left, where Azira-fell stood, returning his gaze with a flat look.

"You think?"-"Now, now, don't come at me with sarcasm, it's not my fault he's a graceless angel."

"You brought him here."-"You invited him in the first place!"

"I just wanted to mess with him, for Heavens sake."-"And what was that just now?"

"I messed with him."-"I don't know, if you're an even bigger bastard right now, than you had been-"

"Oi, dickheads! Don't ignore me.", Hastur shouted, not liking being ignored. He was a threat!

"Whose idea was the Holy Water anyway?"-"Yeah, uh, you see...ngh."-"I knew it."

A ball of Hellfire collided with Crowleys shoulder, getting his attention. "What the fuck?! What was that for?", he wasn't hurt, but it did pull him out of his thoughts. 

"You flashy bastard will die first! For Ligur.", he spat out, disgusted to be even near Crowley. 

Just as Crowley mused, how Hastur thought he would be able to discorporate him, the demon hurled a knife at him, managing to get it stuck in his leg, just above the knee. "Ow! Je- Go- Fucking Fuck!", he screamed, Hastur had to have something to the knife, it hurt like a bitch. He went down and sat on the ground, holding his leg close to the wound. His vision got blurry. 

"Got it from that feathery sucker Michael. It's blessed.", the Duke of Hell explained, grinning. "You won't be able to take it out yourself, slowly bleeding to death.", he laughed, admiring what he did, he took a few steps towards Crowley, completely disregarding Azira-fell in the process. If he had given him just a slight look, he would have noticed, the raging Hellfire in the otherwise hazel eyes. 

A growl got both Crowleys and Hasturs attention. The last had a second knife in hand, obviously wanting to use it too. It had to burn his hand, but Hastur didn't seem to care, too determined to finish the job.

They watched in steady growing horror, how Azira-fell became a huge white wolf. He looked terrifying. "Don't touch him.", he growled, snout barely moving, as he showed off his sharp teeth. 

"You want to be next?", Hastur asked, still on a high from hitting Crowley. He wielded his knife and ran the few feet towards Azira-fell, who mirrored him, sprinting and striking him down, paws pressing on his chest, muzzled near his face. 

The growl got deeper, as his claws digged through Hasturs chest, ripping him open. Hellfire liking around his paws, catching on Hasturs clothes. "I said, _don't_ touch him."

"No! Don't! I'm not finished!", Hastur said, panicked, but in one swift motion, his arm, the one holding the blessed knife and had wanted to strike Azira-fell with, was not attached to his body anymore. 

"Too bad." Blood dripping down his chin, Azira-fell turned back to his human shaped form, manifesting a sword, that reflected the dim afternoon sun that shined through his windows, he stood up and plunged it into Hastur, not only discorporating him, but destroying his soul completely. He won't be back. Azira-fell had used enough force, to get it stuck in his floorboards. Looking down in disdain, he sighed. What a mess. 

Crowley coughed involuntarily, tasting blood. A normal knife wouldn't have done that, it was probably because of the origin of it. "Azssss-", he hissed, choking on more blood, nearly passing out and getting Azira-fells attention. He looked wild, Hasturs blood all over his face and hands. _Don't let that be the last thing I see..._ , he prayed, to whom, he didn't know, passing out was so nice and warm. Only simple thoughts allowed. He couldn't think about the rapidly growing pool of blood under him right now.

"Crowley?!"


	4. Chapter 4

Red sheets, that was the first thing he noticed, next were chirping birds outside the window. Whose window? This was not his own flat. Where was he? He felt like a train had ran him over. And he should know. It hadn't been his brightest moment back then... Grumbling all the while, he looked around again. Soft morning light illuminated the bedroom he was in. He blinked. What the ever-loving heck had happened?

Crowley sat up, he was alone and feeling dizzy. Next to him on a nightstand was a glass of water, just waiting for him to gulp down. Sipping on the water, he tried to remember. He was with Poyel in his Bentley, then, they had been at Azira-fells place and then...

Crowley kicked off the heavy duvet and winced. His pants were ruined, just above his knee. He could make out a bandage underneath. Had to be a miracle, there was no way someone had taken off his skin tight jeans and put them back on right after. 

He felt around the frayed parts of it, prodding and poking to get a feel of how bad his given body was hurt. He still felt lightheaded. Crowley closed his eyes, as he saw the darkness closing in on his vision. A sudden flicker of a memory appeared before his eyelids. 

Aziraphale, no, Azira-fell, bloody and looking shocked back at him. No, not shocked, concerned. That can't be right, probably a dream or his mind had altered his memory too much. Wishful thinking.

The events of last night rushed back to him now. Hastur had showed up and wanted to kill them, proceeded to throw a knife at Crowley and was actually damn near to succeed in that task. 

Azira-fell had killed him, without any mercy or a chance for Hastur to redeem himself. The Prince of Hell wanted him gone, so he destroyed him. Crowley shivered. It had looked so easy for him to unleash his inner beast and take the demonic Dukes life.

That experience had been terrifying, but why was he still alive? Did Poyel wake up and help him? No demon would've been able to take that knife out of him. Hastur had risked his own life, carrying those with him. Slowly, he inched closer to the edge of Azira-fells bed, testing how much weight he could put on his damaged leg. 

The way he swayed told him, that it was apparently not much pressure he could put on it. Not even his own weight as it seemed. He hobbled ever so slightly towards the closed door, unsure of what awaited him behind it. Crowley paused, before turning the doorknob, taking a deep breath and opened the door. 

He could see the whole livingroom, there was no blood, just two knifes on the ground, Hasturs body was gone, leaving a deep notch in a spot of the parquet floor. Crowley could make it out from there. His eyes latched onto a figure on the couch. Poyel seemed to be asleep still. 

Hobbling out of the bedroom, he furrowed his brows. Where was Azira-fell? Making his way over to the sitting area, he sank down into the softness of the armchair, across from Poyel. 

The angels eyes were closed, Crowley couldn't see if he breathed or not, but that wasn't a dead give-away anyhow. He heard footsteps nearing him. Soft, no shoes. For a moment he closed his eyes, his head was spinning, then he looked towards the aproaching figure.

"What are you doing being up?", Azira-fell asked, incredulous. Crowley shrugged lightly, turning back to the angel on the couch. Ignoring the question. 

"What's with him?", he wanted to know. He heard Azira-fell sigh and that he continued his path. 

Getting in his line of vision, he let his eyes travel over him, the Prince of Hell had washed up and didn't wear a jacket or tie. Not even a waistcoat, just his black button up, the upper ones undone and slacks. And black socks, Crowley noticed. He looked soft. "I miracled him on the sofa, he hasn't woken up yet, but he doesn't seem to be discorporated either.", Azira-fell answered with a shrug, involuntarily drawing Crowleys eyes to his mouth. No trace of blood. Had it really ever been there?

"How did you get the knife out?", the serpent asked, returning Azira-fells gaze, whose hands were suddenly and a bit hasty pushed in his slacks pockets. 

"I pulled it out. Apperantly, I wasn't able to heal your wound completely, because it had been a blessed knife, demonic miracles only go so far and I guess your body will heal up the human way. Do you want tea?", the Prince of Hell asked him at the end, like it was an everyday conversation they had. And in this moment he reminded him of the old Aziraphale. Crowley nodded, unable to say anything to all this information and feelings he got. 

Azira-fell went back to the kitchen, obviously a kettle on his stove prepared for this moment. Not really paying attention to time, Crowley didn't know how long it took for him to come back with a tray with two teacups, a teapot, milk and sugar balancing on it. 

The blond demon put it softly on his coffeetable and held one of the cups infront of Crowley, which he took carefully, noticing something red on Azira-fells palm of his hand. "What's that?"

Ignoring his question and taking his own cup to sit on another cream colored armchair, Azira-fell sighed again. "When do you think will Poyel wake up again?"

"Don't play this down, what is wrong with your hands?", Crowley specified his question this time. 

"Nothing."-"Show me."

Azira-fell rolled his eyes, getting annoyed. Crowley didn't care, he wanted to know. "It's nothing that wasn't to be expected. Let it go.", gripping his teacup a bit harder for a moment, he fixed Crowley with a look, that clearly said, he didn't want to explain it further.

"Tough luck, show. me.", was Crowleys response. Azira-fell wasn't angry yet, but it pissed him off quite a lot to be bugged that much. He set his teacup down, stood up again, to stand infront of Crowley, holding his palms up in a sort of defense pose, to show him. 

"Happy? You're insufferable. It's what you get for touching stuff that definitely didn't want to be touched. Can I drink my tea now, before it gets too cold?", Azira-fell said, not looking at Crowley, whose face had morphed into a concerned expression and put his teacup on the saucer on his legs. 

Before Azira-fell could take his hands down, Crowley took them in his own and inspected them further. As he softly ran his thumps over the angry red patches of skin, he looked up and could see Azira-fell trying to hide a wince. Pulling his hands closer to his face, Crowley blew against his palms, erasing the wounds instantly. "There, all gone."

With a hoarse voice, Azira-fell said:"Thanks, you didn't have to."

Knowing how he had meant it, Crowley shook his head. "That was not your punishment for keeping me alive. I don't want you to suffer."

"Maybe I want me to suffer. I killed a fellow demon, Beelzebubs underling."-"You just defended yourself."

Crowley still held his hands, as Azira-fell changed their position and now held Crowleys hands in his, bowing down and kissing Crowleys knuckles. It was such a intimate action, that he could feel his useless heart picking up speed. 

"You always had a way with words, twisting facts to please and excuse your reality and actions. I know I loved and hated that, in equal parts, about you.", Azira-fell said, letting go of Crowleys hands and turning to his seat. 

Crowley tried to process the meaning of those words and felt his eyes sting. "And now you just hate it?"

Stirring his tea, heating it with a demonic miracle, Azira-fell mulled it over. "No.", he said, earning a perplexed look. "Now drink your tea, you lost a lot of blood last night, you probably should even eat something for a change."

Just as Crowley was about to say something, Poyel snored loudly and turned towards them, slowly opening his eyes. "Wha' happen'?", he mumbled, apparently angels could get a self-inflicted concussion. 

"We didn't die.", Azira-fell answered in a flat tone, miracling a third teacup on the table, to share the remaining warm liquid with Poyel.

"Brilliant.", he said while sitting up, holding his head. "What happened to me?"

Filling Poyels cup with tea, Azira-fell explained most of it, he left out how he bit Hasturs arm off. "Well and you slipped before any of this happened and knocked yourself out. I actually don't know how you managed to splash the whole contents of your Holy Water flask over yourself, but you did."

Poyel laughed a bit out of embarressment, then he winced again. His head hurt quite a lot. "Gabriel would say:'Congratulation, you're a disgrace!' or something. Uhh...forget that.", the angel quickly added. He seemed to be in a sharing mode while hurt. 

"It's okay, everyone knows that Gabriel is a dick.", Crowley laughed, sipping at his tea. 


	5. Chapter 5

"Crowley?"-"Ngk?!"

" _Crowley!_ "-"What."

"I think they're going to tow the Bentley."-"They better not."

Azira-fell turned to the source of that grumbled half-threat, looking away from the view outside and let his gaze linger on a groggy demon on his couch. Suppressing his smirk, he went over to him, sitting down in his favorite armchair opposite of Crowley.

"Well, they really are towing your car. It stood here for quite some time, a week or two. I'm impressed it didn't happen earlier.", the blond demon said, scratching his chin, following every move Crowley made, as he stretched and yawned, desperately trying to wake up more.

"Miracles...T'was all miracles. Guess I'm too tired to hold onto them.", he said, yawning again and rubbing his eyes. Healing a blessed wound did take a lot of time. He had stayed at Azira-fells place since Hasturs Last Dumb Idea of the Century. 

He hadn't done much, other than drink and eat, to give his body something to work with. It had been strange to live with a shadow of someone he once knew, but he was allowed to lie down wherever he pleased and Azira-fell didn't make it awkward, leaving him alone most of the time. He had to admit, that his nightmares about Aziraphales Fall were gone.

"Ah.", Azira-fell said, snapping his fingers. He was sure the towing truck would put the Bentley back down and leave without the car, completely forgetting why they had been there in the first place. "When do you think, you'll go back home?"

Thinking about leaving was actually not as pleasant as one might think. "Why?", Crowley asked, raising a single eyebrow. "Do you want me to go?", if he was honest, it was nice not to be alone all the time, even though it also had been kind of strange not to experience it with the old Aziraphale. This fallen angel did avoid him in a way. 

"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Crowley, but I do need you to be somewhere else now.", Azira-fell said, his face almost apologetic. Almost. There was something else, an urgency Crowley couldn't fathom. 

"Was it something I did? I'm sorry, Ang- Azira-fell...I promise not to do it again, whatever it was. It's just...what if...", he couldn't finish, already regretting to have said so much. 

"They won't come for you, otherwise they would've been here already. And no, it's nothing you did, I just- It's-...it's because of something I'd like to do and you need to go.", the Price of Hell admitted, staring at a point above Crowleys head.

"Like what?", the other demon wanted to know, furrowing his brows. He looked at his aquientence, trying to catch his eyes, but it was fruitless due to Azira-fells blunt avoidance. He desperately wished to have his glasses, but they lay on the nightstand in the bedroom. Of course, he could miracle them over, but that would just look suspicious.

"Like- none of your business.", Azira-fell answered, finally looking at Crowley again, but breaking their gaze again shortly after. He stood up and went into the bedroom, not knowing or caring, that Crowley followed him, curious.

As he slightly hobbled the whole way there, he managed to get to the door, just to see Azira-fell picking up his sunglasses. "What are you doing?"

Sighing, Azira-fell turned towards him. "I wanted to bring them to you. Would be a little uproar out there, if you forgot those.", he held up the sunglasses to show Crowley. "I always liked it, when you took them off. I felt special to get to see your eyes."

"What do you feel now, when you look at me?", his voice was suddenly barely a whisper, too afraid to really be heard. He was scared, to be told that Azira-fell might hate his eyes now, or the fact he could see them right now.

Taking his time, to think about it, Azira-fells gaze swept all over him. "Nothing...", he said, just as quietly as Crowley had. He could see how snake eyes turned glassy and the usual smirk was slightly upside down. "Nothing, I want to talk about right now.", this time he said it louder, to be heard by his guest.

"What does that mean?", Crowley was baffled, he couldn't understand it. Did Azira-fell feel something? And if so, what exactly did he feel? Of course, there are a hundred feelings the Prince of Hell could have about him, but none of them had to be nice. No wonder he didn't want to talk about them. 

In a slow advancing pace, Azira-fell walked over to Crowley, handing him his sunglasses, making a point about not brushing their fingers against one another. "That I need to be alone right now.", his words had a finalty to them, that Crowley didn't want to ask again, but he did anyway. Out of spite. 

"Could you please elaborate? We've known each other for over six-thousand years, should there really be secrets?"-"There have always been secrets, so yes. How does your leg feel?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "It still fucking hurts, Hastur did get to pierce it from one side to the other with his blessed heavenly knife, you know that."

"Does it hurt too much to drive?", Azira-fell asked, slowly losing his patience. He took a step towards Crowley, who gulped, but didn't take a step back.

"I-I don't know.", their faces were just mere inches apart and he did back up unintentionally, his shoulder leaning againt the doorframe, turning, until it was his back. Even though Azira-fell was still shorter than him, Crowley did cower enough to appear smaller. It was some kind of primal instinct. 

"You should really try it out than.", Azira-fells lips brushed his cheek, as he said this, sending shivers down Crowleys spine and making him forget, what exactly he should try out.

"Why? Hot date?", the redhead asked, just as Azira-fell leaned back again, putting a good distance between them, as he walked back to his livingroom.

"Something like that.", Azira-fell answered, snapping his fingers to clean his apartment. He didn't see Crowleys hurt look, right before said demon hid his eyes behind his glasses, like usual. As he turned to him again, the redhead appeared to be his normal cool and collected self, despite his damaged leg. 


End file.
